A week ago, I wrote 11/12/13 on a piece of paper a bunch of times in a row, just because I liked how it looked.
It wasn't until I wrote 11/6/13 the next day that I realized that I had only dreamt it.
Which is strange, really. Why would I dream about a date - not a day, just the date on the calendar - that has no meaning for me at all? There was nothing special scheduled today. I hadn't thought about it at all before the dream. I just like the numbers.
What I actually did today was fly across the country, chasing the setting sun. (We never did catch up with it.)
I managed to pick up a cold on my east-bound flight last week, though, so during our descent into Gone West today, I chewed six pieces of gum in frantic succession, trying to keep my ears from doing what they were doing, which was feeling like they were about to explode. I kept putting in earplugs and then when they hurt too much taking them out and then when not having them in hurt too much putting them back in.
After some very painful popping like I haven't felt since I had an ear infection in college, I can now hear again, mostly.